


The Sun Will Shine On Us Again

by jeonkaktus



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Berserker Loki (Marvel), Brainwashing, Bullying, Character Death, Crushes, Crying, Depersonalization, Evil Odin (Marvel), Grief/Mourning, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Hurt No Comfort, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) Angst, Loki (Marvel) Doesn't Get a Hug, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki (Marvel)-centric, M/M, Mind Control, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Torture, Rejection, Sick Loki (Marvel), Sickfic, Torture, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Writer Loki (Marvel), Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-17 19:30:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20626355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeonkaktus/pseuds/jeonkaktus
Summary: 31 days angst challenge- or, an excuse to write Loki whump7. In retrospect, Loki probably should have thought of a better hiding spot. (high school au, bullying)





	1. Grief

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in the span of an hour so don't expect much. I'm working on my other Thorki story - almost 5k words in on the second chapter - but I've hit a block and I want to stretch my writing muscles with some disobliging Loki whump.
> 
> Tags for this chapter: grief, major character death, hurt no comfort.

It's Sif and Brunnhilde who eventually take him home.

Loki doesn't remember too much from the ride. He thinks one of them is talking to him but there's a gaping emptiness inside his chest that distracts him from the outside world, a black hole devouring everything that exists, everything that has ever existed.

He is just a shell. Wind howls within his empty ribcage and there's nothing inside him and every cell of his body aches and it shouldn't hurt when there's nothing that could be hurting and yet it takes everything in him not to howl with overwhelming agony. It's the only thing that exists.

Atoms are made ninety nine percent of empty space. Loki has never felt it more acutely before.

He comes to himself at the threshold and sways immediately, a hand grabbing his elbow the only thing preventing him from falling.

'No,' he moans, his voice rasp and hoarse from disuse and crying. He thinks he's been crying but his eyes are dry now and he doesn't remember. Doesn't remember anything. 'No, I can't... I can't...'

To come back to their apartment, to go back inside, see Thor's shoes lined up next to his, an open magazine he left on the coffee table in the morning – it would kill him. He hurts already. Hurts so badly he can't breathe. Can't breathe.

He's not ready for that.

Brunnhilde takes him to her and Sif's apartment instead, the other woman staying behind to grab some of Loki's clothes and the most necessary stuff.

The doctor has said Loki shouldn't be left alone in his current state. That he's too vulnerable. But Loki has no family – never had, really. No one to turn to.

All their friends were really Thor's. He's liked them enough, most of the time. Brunnhilde and Sif being the only ones he's ever really been comfortable with.

It has always been only Loki. And then, Loki and Thor.

Now he's alone again. He doesn't think he can survive this. Doesn't know how he used to. Doesn't remember anymore. Doesn't want to.

_I can't_, he thinks hysterically. _I can't, I don't know how, I am unable to. Please. Please please please._

One breath, then another. One at a time. He feels the air entering his nostrils and travelling down to his lungs. It feels like dust and plastic and suffocation. Feels like nothing.

A breath. A heartbeat. A step, then next. It's as simple as that. He's never noticed it before. Now it takes all his effort not to just pass on the floor and stop functioning.

He's tired. Has never been more tired in his life. Suddenly simply maintaining his bodily function takes too much effort.

He must have passed out at some point because the next thing Loki finds himself on a couch in a familiar apartment. There's trinkets and pillows and unfinished paintings everywhere. It's not _theirs_ and for a moment he feels confusion.

But then he remembers. His breath halts and catches in his throat and he can't breathe, can't breathe, and it hurts. Hurts so so badly. And he remembers.

A phone call. Loki's all dirty and gross, a band keeping his hair from falling into his eyes. He's been cleaning their little cell in the basement for the past hour, stuffing every thing into boxes. He hopes to sort it out later and throw the useless ones away, maybe give some to charity.

He has a special ringtone set for Thor. Reaches for his phone without looking, swipes to the side.

'Hey, big bear, what's taking so long? I'm almost done down here.'

'_Is this Loki Laufeyson?_' An unfamiliar voice asks.

He pauses mid step, phone pressed between his shoulder and his cheek, hands full of old Christmas decorations. 'Yes, that would be me.'

He's not scared yet. Just confused.

'This number was saved in Mr Thor Odinson's phone as emergency call. I'm calling to inform you...'

The man tells him he's calling from Saint Mary's Hospital. There had been an accident.

Loki's body goes cold and the world turns around him. The decorations slip from his numb fingers. He can feel the blood thumping in his skull and everything is sort of muted and blurry at the edges. For a while, everything stops.

A drunk driver crashing into Thor's car.

Loki doesn't have a driving license. Has never felt the need to get one, doesn't want to add to the climate change. Goes everywhere by bicycle or bus or asks Thor to drive him. He must have called Brunnhilde but doesn't remember that. Everything is sort of a blur after that call. He finds himself at the hospital, a man in his mid-forties in a white coat and with stress wrinkles on his face telling him what has happened.

Fatal injuries, quick death.

They won't let him see him. Won't let him see Thor. Tell him he's not family. Loki falls into hysteria and it's only thanks to Sif and Brunnhilde's combined strength he doesn't tackle the doctor to the floor and run to the room they keep him in.

He needs to see. Needs to see to believe.

Thor is hurt and probably scared and Loki needs to see, needs to be there for him.

Surely they're wrong. These kind of things don't happen to _them_. People on the TV, some faceless individuals, of course – that's life, accidents can't be stopped. But not them. Not Thor.

That's just absurd.

He's given a shot, some kind of sedative. The blurriness and detachment come back like a numbing coat shielding him from the world. He sits in the waiting area with Sif and Brunnhilde until Thor's parents arrive.

He doesn't remember what his last words to Thor were.

Loki wakes up in the dead of night on the couch, blankets thrown away, back and forehead sweaty, a wide smile and blue eyes and wheat-like hair imprinted on the inside of his eyelids. He realizes he doesn't remember what his last words to Thor were.

He tries and his head starts to hurt and he hyperventilates and goes into a full panic attack because he _can't remember_.

He had been busy with dishes when Thor was leaving for work that morning. He was running late, didn't have time to kiss Loki goodbye. Closed the door audibly behind him; Loki sclowed because that oaf _always _slams the door shut so hard it's going to fall out of the hinges one day.

He doesn't kiss Thor goodbye. Doesn't tell him how much he loves him. How Thor is everything to him. How he's brought Loki back from between the dead when he was at his worst. How he created a hot swirling nebula inside his chest that gave birth to new stars and awoke Loki's numb dead body and his suffering treacherous mind.

There will be many more chances. Many more occasions. It's never too late to say all of that.

So many more.

But there's none, he knows now.

Loki chokes on his own cries until he passes out.

He leaves the girls' place two days later. They say he doesn't have to, that he's welcome to stay as long as he wishes. Are reluctant to let him go. But Loki doesn't want to be a burden. He's useless now, alternating between restless sleep and excruciating sobs that rip his guts from inside out.

It's weird. Crying has always been soothing, leaving a blessedly numb calm afterwards. It doesn't anymore. He cries and cries and it doesn't get easier. Still hurts the same.

Hurts so much.

The only rest he gets is when he falls into uneasy slumber, body too exhausted to keep on going. He finds no respite in his dreams. They're haunted by a blinding smile and golden skin and warm, heavy hands ghosting over his hips. He wakes up disoriented and aching and dives straight back into the torture the reality has become, and every time it's just as bad, being faced with the facts, learning them again and again.

He doesn't distinguish between dreams and consciousness anymore. It's all a nightmare.

Loki doesn't go to the funeral. Lies in bed all day, staring at the ceiling. His phone had been exploding with calls and messages until it died down. He thinks someone had been pounding at the door at some point but can't be sure. Isn't sure of anything anymore.

Lies in bed and breathes.

Their bed. Found on a bargain in a cheap store, the first item they put in an empty, recently bought apartment.

Their bed. Their apartment.

He lies, bones heavy and empty, hurting with nothingness. Lack of presence. In, out. It's as simple. It's the hardest thing Loki's ever done.

There's still a dip in the pillow on Thor's side. Loki wants to push his face into it, breathe Thor's shampoo until he suffocates. Is afraid to ruin the remains of the man's presence.

He crawls to the chest of drawers instead and pulls out Thor's pyjamas shirt. Curls on the hard, unforgiving floor and buries his nose in the material, breathing in the familiar scent of Thor's skin and Thor's body wash and Thor's love.

He must've fallen asleep at some point because when he comes to himself it's long dark outside, street lamps casting long sharp shadows across the floor, hiding the corners in darkness.

His mouth is dry and he can barely crack his eyes open. He hasn't showered in days.

Thor's shirt is pressed against his chest in a cruel mocking parody of a body that's not there to hug anymore. A heartbeat lost forever.

Dry sobs wrack his body for he has no more tears left.


	2. Depersonalization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chitauri have been defeated, the Tesseract retrieved and Loki brought back to Asgard. This doesn't solve as many problems as Thor thought it would.
> 
> Tags for this chapter: aftermath of torture, past torture, mind control, depersonalization.

When they defeat the Chitauri and retrieve the Tesseract, Thor thinks it's finally over.

When he wraps his arms around his defeated, wicked brother, he thinks all will be well.

He will bring Loki home, to Asgard. Loki will serve whatever punishment Allfather deems suitable and he'll understand his mistakes and once again he'll be himself, Thor's little loyal brother standing by his side as he always had before.

There is no reason to doubt that. They have been companions and shield brothers and each other's sun and moon for millennia. This is but a mere inconvenience, just another quarrel that will eventually make their bond stronger.

Loki's fallen unconscious after the beating received from the great Hulk and stayed that way since then. His body's terribly light in Thor's hold and there's so little of him and his skin is glistening with sweat, pulled too tight over his cheekbones, eyes constantly twitching under his eyelids and mouth pulled in a frown but he's breathing and he's safe and he's there with Thor and it's all that matters.

Mother meets them at the Bifrost halfway to the palace. Tears are running down her beautiful face as she embraces the both of them, a sob of relief wrenching from her chest when she lays her eyes on her second son's unconscious face, cradles his head delicately to her breast like she used to when he was but a babe.

They take Loki straight to the healing chambers. The trial and punishment to follow can wait for when he's feeling better.

Thor then proceeds to the Throne Hall to return the Tesseract and report to Allfather.

He's not there when the healers strip Loki down and discover evidences of horrific torment he's been put through. He's not there to see the Chitauri brand etched permanently in the white skin of his brother's collarbone. Scars and burns and broken bones mended wrong. Remains of poison in his blood. White whip lashes all over his back, one on top of the other, crisscrossing in a tale telling of horror and suffering and despair.

There's traces of similar torture on his mind, Thor will be told later. Strange magic having bound his will, damaged his perception and perspective. Having made him passive, a tool in his tormentors' hands.

It's a relief and a heartbreak at the same time. Knowing Loki has done none of his crimes of his own will. Imagining what unbelievable anguish he's been put through.

Thor wants to scream and kill. Swing and smash and tear until there's none left of who did this to his little brother.

But they don't know. The wisps of strange magic left in Loki's mind lead to the uncharted depths of the Void. It's a guess from there. He thinks of Loki's fall. Of two years of absence, two years of grief until his unexpected arrival on Midgard.

Two years. Two years of Norns know what.

He wants to scream and kill and swing and smash and tear but he can only wait. Eir the main healer tells him and Allfather and Mother there's not much more than could be done. Loki needs to heal. He'll gain strength. His body and mind will purge themselves, given time.

And so, Thor waits.

Refuses to leave Loki's side for longer than five minutes. Watches by his bed, dozing in and out of a restless slumber. Frigga tries to coax him into going to bed for at least one full night of sleep but he doesn't want to hear of that.

It reminds him of when they were young and Loki would spend half of his days bound to bed, tormented by another one of his many sicknesses. Crying because he couldn't go outside and play with Thor. Tiny body shaking with fever and coughs and migraines and whatever would haunt him at the moment.

Thor doesn't budge. He's already failed his brother too many times. Doesn't want to do that ever again.

On the eighth day, Loki wakes.

It's just fluttering of his eyelids at first. Thor barely notices it happening. Thinks it's delusion at first but then Loki's eyes blink open slowly.

He waits, holding his breath. Waits for what's to come.

But Loki just stares at the ceiling above him, eyes glassy and strangely dull, their colour weathered. Thor can see the flickering lamps reflecting in them. His chest is rising in even, shallow intakes of air; face remains blank, not a trace of emotion visible.

And Loki's always been a master of hiding his feelings but this is different. Uneasiness stirs in Thor's stomach when his brother just lies there, indifferent, limp as a rag doll.

His eyes close slowly.

The blonde shuffles in place, unable to handle the tension.

'Brother,' he rasps, trying to make his voice quiet and even. It has always been a struggle for him. 'Brother, do you hear me?'

If Loki does, he gives no indication. One hand lying by his side curls slowly into a loose fist, bones long and bird-like. A quiet whine slips past his lips, face as passive as it has been until now. Like he's in pain but doesn't bother to act against it. Like he's used to it.

Thor loses it.

'Brother!' He says and makes the mistake of reaching to touch his shoulder.

Loki screams.

'You said he would be well. That the magic bounding his mind would be expelled by now. I do not understand!'

Thor is pacing back and forth across the infirmary, body buzzing with tension and anxiety. A low thunder rumbles in the distance.

There's only four of them. Him, Eir, Mother and Allfather. The four of them and Loki.

He's fallen into a fit of hysteria after Thor had tried to touch him. Fell out of the bed and crawled into the nearest corner twitching and screaming, shaking his head vehemently, tearing at his long tangled hair with claw-like hands. Thor stood back, paralyzed with fear, as the healers rushed in, alarmed by the screams.

He still hears them echoing inside his skull. Animalistic howls from within Loki's brittle chest, tearing at the joins of reality and turning everything around into a frenzy haze.

He didn't scream like he was scared or in pain. There was no fear, no misery. Loki screamed like he did it just for the sake of it.

Like he didn't remember how to do anything else.

They put him into a magic inducted sleep and called for their parents. That's how they ended up in this situation, Thor pacing furiously, Mother sitting by Loki's disheveled frame, gripping one of her hands between her two with a pained expression on his face. Odin standing behind her with a stoic, grim expression.

'It has been expelled, my Prince,' Eir tries in a break between Thor's infuriated cries. 'There is none left in his mind. The moment the Tesseract was returned-'

'Then why is he like this? Why does he act mad!' The Thunderer demands, advancing towards the healer. She doesn't do as much as flinch but her lips are pressed into a thin line and Thor only stops when Odin's voice booms through the room.

'Enough!'

His head snaps to the Allfather but his body listens on its' own and Thor finds himself frozen in place. His chest is heaving, hands balled into fists.

He doesn't understand.

Everything was supposed to be well now.

'My son is right, though,' the Allfather addresses the healer. 'You assured us that once Loki's mind was free of the invasive magic he would be returned to us. Yet from what I have been told, that is not the case.'

Eir wringles her hands, obviously worried.

'We do not know yet the exact reason for Prince Loki's outburst of panic. He hasn't been awake long enough to estimate that with precision.'

'But you have your assumptions, I believe,' Odin says. Composed, even. Always calm.

'I do indeed,' the woman admits reluctantly. 'It might simply be shock. Though if the marks on the Prince's body are any indication of the torture he's been put through...' She hesitates.

'Just say it!' Thor pleads. Father doesn't reprimand him this time, his single eyes boring into the healer.

'...he might have simply lost his mind.'

Frigga sobs violently, turning her face to hide it from the view. Odin's jaw clenches. Loki stays immobile, barely breathing. Thor doesn't know any of that.

The ground opens underneath his feet and he's the one falling this time.

Loki doesn't scream anymore. Though Thor almost wishes he would, for he interacts with the outside world no more.

They bring him to his old chambers, hoping that familiar surroundings will stir the missing part of him to life. They don't. Frigga attends to her younger son personally. Dresses him and feeds him and braids his hair and sings to him like she used to when he was little. She's in delusion and it can't be good for her but no one has the heart to stop her.

Loki's wounds heal. The scars remain.

He sits where he's left and walks when Frigga takes him to the gardens with her arm hooked under his and eats when they give him the spoon. Physically he's as healthy as he could be after being put through Hel.

He only makes sound during sleep. Whimpers and moans slipping past his lips bitten to blood and silent tears falling from his shut eyes and disappearing into his hairline. But he doesn't trash, does not turn or toss or jerk in his dreams. When Mother puts him in a certain position for sleep Loki remains like that all night, no matter what battle he's fighting.

Eir's worst assumptions are proven correct.

'I believe it's a defence mechanism he's come up with to shield himself from the torture. He's still there somewhere, deep inside, but I know of no way to reach him.'

Odin Allfather decides there will be no trial. It makes no sense to judge and punish an empty shell.

During one of the rare occasions Frigga's not there, Thor comes to Loki's chambers.

There's no trace of dust, their Mother making sure to keep everything intact, ready for use. Loki's always been obsessed with keeping his belongings and surroundings as clean and composed as possible.

Shelves filled with books circle the chamber, floor to ceiling, taking every piece of horizontal space. There's one lying on the wide windowsill, a piece of silk marking the place Loki's last stopped reading.

Thor feels like an intruder here.

He kneels down by the bed carefully, as if not to disturb his brother's sleep. As if it matters whether he's conscious or not. As if there's any difference.

Loki lies on his back with his arms by his sides and stares at the ceiling.

Sometimes his eyes wander and it always fills them with awful, painful bursts of hope.

'Brother,' Thor starts anxiously. His hands itch to grab one of Loki's, to feel the warmth radiating from him.

But there's none. He's tried this before. Loki's cold as a dead body.

'I don't know if you can hear me. Maybe I'm talking to myself. But if I'm not...' He pauses, throat constricting painfully. 'If you're still there... if there's any chance...'

Thor gets mad sometimes. That's how he deals with misery and fear.

He smashes things and screams and flips tables and drinks himself into stupor. Gets mad at Loki.

'Please, let me know. Let me know you are truly alive.'

Sometimes he cries. Cries and begs and prays fervently that this is but a trick, one of Loki's mischievous jests that used to irritate him so much. He'd give anything for this to be another malicious, troublesome scheme.

The Norns stay indifferent to his prayers.

'I need to know... know you're still there. I can't go on like this.'

His vision blurs with tears. They run hotly down his face, disappear into his beard. Thor grabs Loki's thin hand and presses it to his cheek, searches for the pulse frantically. It's there, calm and steady. Idle.

He starts to forget it had one day been anything but.

'I can't go on without you.'

Loki remains unmoving.

Years later, Thor will meet Thanos, the Mad Titan. And Thanos will say:

'It was so much fun breaking your brother.' And he will say: 'He resisted for much longer than I would've expected. Kept clinging to you stubbornly, silly little godling.' And there will be something akin to amazement in his voice.

And he will say:

'He actually thought you would come and save him. I made sure he understood that you would not, that there was no one coming for him. Ever. I made sure to etch it into his mind that no one cared enough, no one loved him enough, before I tore that mind to pieces.'

And he will say:

'You should've gone for the head.' And he will snap his fingers.

By the time Thor comes back to Asgard half of his people have disappeared, turned into dust. His little brother among them.

It doesn't hurt as much as Thor would expect.

The truth being Loki's already been gone for a long time.


	3. Rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki asks Thor out. The outcome isn't really surprising to him.
> 
> Tags for this chapter: rejection, crushes, unrequited crush, college au.

At first Thor looks confused, like he doesn't quite understand. He opens his mouth and then closes it. Loki waits patiently, weirdly calm.

It's the quiet before the storm. He still can't believe he's just went to the quarterback star straight after their shared class and asked him out. He, Loki Laufeyson, a nobody on their campus.

'Uh,' Thor says eloquently after what feels like an eternity. His eyes drift to the side and he puts his hands in the pockets of his jersey jacket. A clear picture of discomfort, if Loki's ever seen one. 'It's really, uh. Flattering? But I don't swing this way, pal. Sorry.'

A lead ball drops into Loki's stomach. _Oh_.

Of course.

'I understand,' he answers with a tight smile. 'It's okay.' He doesn't know how he manages to say it without bursting into tears. His voice doesn't even sound shaky. Such a contrast to his insides that seem to be freezing and burning at the same time.

What an embarrassment.

It's silly, really. Not like he ever had any chance with someone like _Thor _to begin with. Still, he allowed himself the luxury of fantasy. He remembers Amora's words – _What do you have to lose, really? Even if he refuses, he won't laugh in your face. He's a nice guy._

She had been right, of course. It's a small blessing but a blessing nonetheless.

Though it doesn't feel like one at the moment.

'I mean,' Thor hurries to explain. Like this awkward situation is his fault. Like it isn't Loki's and Loki's only. 'I don't have anything against... gays. You know. Or you.' He smiles bashfully. 'You're cool. And smart. Really impressive out there,' he makes a vague gesture towards the classroom. Loki keeps an understanding smile plastered to his face. _Twist the knife deeper, why don't you. _'It's just. I'm not interested in guys.'

_Please stop talking_, Loki thinks. He wants to get out of there. Hide somewhere and pretend this never happened.

'Thor. You don't have to explain yourself. Really, it's fine. 's not like I expected you to agree anyway.' A short snort of humorless laugh escapes his lips. 'Just... wanted to give it a try, is all.' He shrugs. _Good, Lokey dokey, keep it up. Just a while longer and then you can hole up in your room and die._

But there's that look on Thor's face. Sympathetic. Almost pitying. Like he wants to comfort him. And Loki can't handle this.

He turns his face to the side, trying to hide his emotions, grateful for not tying his hair up that morning. The grip he has on his textbook is borderline on painful. _You're not going to cry in front of him, you stupid fuck._

Blessedly, the Gods decide to have some mercy on him after all. Before any of them can say anything else, a loud voice booms from the end of the corridor.

'Yo, Storm, you comin' or not?'

He winces and hopes Thor doesn't notice. With Loki's luck, he probably does.

It's Fandral, obviously. Loki knows that obnoxious voice too well. One of Thor's teammates and best friends. Probably the biggest fuckboy on campus. A type that gave kids like Loki swirlies in high school.

He wants to turn on his heel and run but his treacherous body feels frozen in place.

'Yeah, just a moment,' Thor yells over his shoulder. 'Again, I'm sorry,' he says quieter.

Loki risks to throw a quick glance at his face. That goddamn straight-out-of-commercial face. Heavenly blue eyes, lips that turn in the most handsome, broad smile, hair falling over his shoulders in streams of liquid gold. And his goddamn perfect body. He could probably bench press a small car.

And, what is probably the worst, he looks like he genuinely means his words.

'Yeah, whatever. Forget it. Just... don't tell anyone. Please?' It's pathetic but Loki has enough problems as it is. Doesn't need to add the whole college knowing about his unfortunate confession to the list.

'Don't worry about that.' Thor moves to leave and when Loki's about to let out a breath of relief he stops, turns back to him. 'If you ever want to hang out... as friends, hit me up.'

_Fuck no._

'Sure thing,' Loki answers tightly and _wow_, he's just managed to smile. A goddamn fine actor, he is.

He watches Thor's broad back as he joins his friend and disappears behind the corner. He'll probably forget about the whole thing before they reach the exit. Loki doesn't know if it's good or not.

He hurries back to his room and even if his eyes glass over with bitter tears that blurry his way there's no one around to witness it.

His flatmate Clint is not there when he arrives. Loki allows himself to cry into his pillow a little bit, then takes a depression nap. Wakes up when it's already dark outside, feeling groggy, weak and even more sad.

He's got three missed calls from Amora and a stream of unread text messages.

_He said no_, he texts her and throws his phone somewhere on the bed. Then curls back under the blankets. It's not good for him, he knows. The temptation to fall back into bad habits is always strong. But Loki can't find it in himself to care. Allow him this small luxury after being dumped.

The worst thing about it was how _nice _Thor was. How understanding. And maybe Loki overvalues him. He probably is. It's just – he's not used to nice things. Not used to others treating him like he's an actual human being. Amora's really the only one who's ever been friendly towards him.

He almost wishes the blonde laughed into his face. Insulted or pushed him. It would be easier to get over – that he's used to.

He should also be used to things not going his way and yet there he is, moping over something that was impossible to begin with.

_It's your own fault_, a quiet voice at the back of his head says. Loki supposes it's true. He shouldn't have let himself get his hopes up. He tried to, but that stupid little flame still burned somewhere deep, tingling his insides.

It's gone now and Loki shivers underneath his blankets.

Amora calls some time later, snatching him from a hazy drowse. Asks whether he wants her to come, if he needs anything. Loki almost bursts into tears at how gentle she sounds, how ready to console him. And he wants nothing else. Wants nothing else than to be hugged and reassured.

He excuses himself with a migraine and she knows better than to push.

Loki's therapeut Bruce would probably call this indirect self-harm. How he always takes a chance to kick himself when already down. He's not delusional enough to disagree.

His crush on Thor started in freshman year.

It took Thor three months of college to become an extraordinary member of the football team and the residential heart-throb. Loki didn't have much expectations when he first appeared in his Literature class. What input could the stereotypical jock and fratboy give? Dude will drop out after the first semester, he thought.

It was the shock the blonde gave him that has actually caught Loki's attention. Because Thor was so much _more _than a typical jock. He actually _read _the books their professor would recommend to them. Always had reasonable questions that didn't make Loki roll his eyes with their obviousness. His way of viewing and interpreting the texts was unique and astute.

Somehow they ended up sitting next to each other, Thor for some reason not being put off by Loki's sarcastic and biting attitude.

The fact he looked like goddamn Apollo was just a bonus.

Loki had been pinning after him for two full years before Amora challenged him to ask Thor out. And maybe he could sense the disaster from a mile but his pride was bigger than the state of Texas. Add the significant amount of alcohol the two of them had that night and Loki agreed in a blink.

A fatal mistake, to think about it, but he's never been good with self-preservation and all that shit.

What he's good at, instead, is pretending that he doesn't care. Hiding all his emotions behind a wall of indifference and sarcasm. Laughing when he wants to cry, merely averting his eyes while he feels like screaming and tearing.

He's a champ at that.

It's just natural that when he walks into the classroom the next day and sees Thor situated in the farthest seat from his, Loki doesn't do as much as blink. Keeps his head high and back straight and walks the whole distance to his place. Sits down and prepares for the class And if his hands shake a bit and his heart breaks ultimately, he makes a good work of hiding it.


	4. Unrequited Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki's newest novel has a special purpose.
> 
> Tags for this chapter: unrequited love, writer Loki, au - modern setting, alcohol abuse.

'We're airing in three... two... one... go!'

The idiotic intro plays, the audience goes wild, yelling and clapping, bright yellow lights blind him for a moment, leaving orange burning spots in his vision. Loki keeps a wide smile on his face, shakes hands with the host after he's done with his supposedly witty introduction. Sits down gracefully on a leather sofa and clasps his hands on top of his knee, one leg crossed over the other, elbow resting on the armrest. A perfect picture of nonchalance and relaxation.

'So, Loki,' the host says, and Loki forces himself to focus, to conjure a somehow believable expression of interest on his face. 'Your latest novel climbed on top of the most significant lists a week after its' release and has been a bestseller for the last three months. How does it feel to be the most successful writer under thirty of the decade, as estimated by Forbes?'

_Real fucking shitty, if I gotta be honest_, Loki thinks. He makes sure to look bashful before answering.

'Definitely much more free meals at fancy restaurants than I have expected,' he says. The host laughs. The audience laughs. Look at him, being his charming self even with a hangover the size of a newborn blue whale.

'Your next book is being released on Friday. It is said to be – quote – your most immersive novel so far – end of quote. Can you tell us something more?'

The questions are boring, standard, nothing unexpected. He's answered them a thousand times before. Loki allows himself to doze off a little, fantasize about when he'll go back home and hug in bed with a bottle of vodka.

'Your books often deal with topics such as mental health issues, heartbreak and battling inner demons. The question is obvious – where do you take your inspiration from?'

He perks up at that. Oh, this one is always fun. The interviewers trying to be sneaky, salivating for a snippet of his private life like vultures. Sensing all the scandals hiding behind his unaffected, perfectly composed facade. Loki's been successful at keeping them at bay so far.

'These are more common than any of us would like to admit. In fact, everyone faces some kind of inner turmoil. I like to challenge people by throwing it into their faces, make them look in the mirror and admit their weaknesses. It's more interesting than any image a writer can ever paint.'

Perfect. His agent Darcy will be so proud. The host frowns in almost unnoticeable disappointment and Loki resists the urge to smirk. He'd hoped for something more juicy, of course. Loki's own misery. The demons haunting his mind. Wounds that never stop bleeding. Things that he likes to keep to himself and himself only. Things he hides for the sake of it. And because he has no one to share them with. Though the last part doesn't sound very impressive. This one he usually doesn't think of.

The interview continues smoothly and Loki's amazed at how well he handles it despite a growing headache, migraine wriggling its way inside his temples. By the end he feels nauseous with it, wants nothing more than crawl into bed and cry.

Darcy drives him home, talks about some errands and meetings they have before the next book's release. Loki hardly listens. He doesn't always actively try to be an obnoxious client he is anyway, this being one of these rare occasions, and yet, there he is. An anxious mess at the back of his agent's car. The most successful writer under thirty, they said. Look at him in his full fucked up glory.

They stop at his block and he reaches with shaky hands for the handle but Darcy's sharp voice freezes him in place.

'Don't drink tonight.'

He meets the agent's gaze in the rearview mirror, her eyes cutting and acute. Loki hates her sometimes.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he tries. Darcy snorts.

'Like hell you don't. Seriously, Lokes. I mean it.Take your goddamn Prozac and go to sleep. No drinks. No scotch. No vodka. No beer.'

Loki chuckles weakly. 'Beer? I thought you think better of me.'

'Cut the bullshit, Laufeyson.' There's no humour in her voice. Oh, sweet lovely Darcy. 'I saw you during the interview. You were clenching your hands and doing that weird thing with your eyebrow. I know you're about to walk in and drink yourself to sleep. Don't. I need you sharp tomorrow. Don't be difficult for once.'

His stomach fills with ice.

_Don't be difficult_, Father would say. _Stop being a disappointment. Do better. Try for once. Why can't you be like your brothers? Why are you such a failure?_

'Fuck you, Darcy,' he spats.

Her eyes widen a fraction, realization dawning upon her. Loki can't muster a single spark of sympathy.

'Call me an hour before so I can prepare and not look like a disaster for once.' With that he leaves, cold November wind immediately ruffling his clothes and hair. If he cries, he pretends it's rain pouring down the grey, relentless sky.

Amora calls on Friday to congratulate him. Loki makes a small talk and jokes around and responds with mild interest to her flirting, eyeing a bottle of wine sitting on the kitchen island the whole time. He was supposed to wait until two PM for the sake of appearance but fuck this, the girl takes two weeks off his life span every time they talk.

Which might actually not be a bad thing.

His apartment is spacious, minimalistic, in the very centre of the city, twentieth floor. White wood and marble counters and floors. An electric fireplace and a commissioned bookshelf for all of his novels. Service comes twice a week to clean.

Loki hates the place.

Sometimes, when he's drunk enough and lets his inner sentimental fool loose, he likes to stand by the large floor to ceiling windows in the living room and observe fairy like lights of the city. Imagine all the lives going on around him and how they mean nothing. How they never had and never will. How lonely he is in the middle of all of that. How much more pathetic than any of them, little insects with a purpose. A knowing fool among ignorant ones; the fool aware. How very romantic.

He sits at the kitchen island and drinks straight out of the bottle, A-minor waltz playing in the background. His phone keeps buzzing with messages. People congratulating him. Friends, acquaintances. Loki doesn't remember most of their names.

_This is really my life_, he thinks with amusement. _Are you proud yet, daddy?_

It's dark outside when he startles back to reality, realizes he's been dozing off with the bottle in hand for what must have been hours. There's dried tear tracks on his cheeks and Loki wipes at his eyes absently. Weird. He doesn't remember crying.

It seems like he doesn't remember a lot of things these days.

His newest book sits in an honorable place on the shelf, mocking him silently. Loki's lip curls in disgust. _Storm_, he called it. Hates himself for allowing that little weakness. Easy to connect with the storyline. Only Loki knows what it truly means. Him and Thor.

God. What the name itself does to him. Loki's still totally, hopelessly in love.

It's selfish. Probably reckless, to risk like that. Not on his own account, no; he's long since had nothing to lose.

But Thor. Gods knows Loki would never willingly do anything to hurt him. Not anymore.

He's disappeared from his life just to make sure of that. Made a great work of bottling that thrice cursed feeling inside, deep deep down, compressed into an infinitesimal molecule, choked and beat and bled into submission. Sometimes it was almost possible to forget it was still there. For months, Loki would be okay.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, the dreams would be back. And once again he could not breathe.

It's a sweet, delicious pain. One Loki would trade for nothing. If it was gone, he would be gone too. It is what makes him. What fuels him to write – write and write and write because only then does he breathe.

It built his life, this pain. This longing. The one and only source of his stories.

It's a part of him, he thinks. After all those years – he'd be nothing without it.

He would not _want_ to be anything.

And yet, to the last moment, right before the final approval, he had been hesitating. Sure, he'd always liked to play with the devil, but this – this was different. Even if no one would know. Even if there was a minimal chance Thor still remembered him and an even smaller one that he'd ever read the book.

Well, he's never been one to make wise choices. And it feels so good to bathe in the light of that immortal flame. Always burning, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. He's been a responsible man – well, somehow – for so long now. It feels just fair to allow himself that one tiny mercy. To let it out, even in such a metaphoric way. It burns and it hurts but it's out to the world and there's no stopping it now. It's a good pain, anyway.

_Storm_. His grand comeback. Worth a celebration, Loki decides, and wanders off to the cabinet in search of something more adequate than wine.

Loki wakes up in the bathtub some hours later, hugging a bottle of scotch. Everything is numb and far away and suddenly he can't breathe. He turns the faucet with shaking hands and buries his hands in his hair and cries loudly as the cold water soaks his clothes, its surface climbing up steadily.

He chokes on his sobs so hard it makes him nauseous and leans over just in time to let the bitter bile splatter against the floor. It burns on its way out. Loki presses his cold forehead against the cold smooth surface and cries and it echoes around the empty apartment but there's no one to hear him.

The cleaning lady, a corpulent older woman finds him the next day and almost passes out herself. It takes Loki a considerable amount of time to convince her not to call an ambulance and send her off. It also stirs him enough to take a shower and brush his teeth. He may still feel like utter shit but at least he doesn't reek anymore.

Darcy calls and demands a meeting in their favourite cafe two streets away. Loki changes into fresh sweatpants, pulls a hood over his head and puts on ridiculously huge sunglasses. The weather is still awful and there's no trace of sunlight. So what if he's a modern vampire, sue him.

His limbs feel like they're made of lead but he manages to get there somehow. Darcy's already there, two mugs of americano in front of her. He flops into the seat across the woman ungracefully and she pushes one in his direction.

'You look like shit.'

'Tell me something I don't know,' Loki deadpans. His coffee is bitter and disgusting, just like he fancies it.

'Take these off',' she waves a hand at his face. 'You look dumb.'

Loki does just so and lifts an eyebrow at her. Darcy hisses sympathetically.

'Exactly,' he nods and puts the sunglasses back on.

'So,' Darcy leans across the table after a while. 'What's wrong?'

He laughs hysterically, high pitched, and spills some coffee, his hands are shaking so bad. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

But oh, he does. Of course he does. And she knows it too. There's no bullshitting Darcy. Probably why she's his agent.

'Listen,' she sighs. 'As your agent I'm just happy you're a prolific writer. As your friend though... I have reasons to be concerned. Sorry, buddy, but you're doing shit work at taking care of yourself.'

Loki shrugs and keeps his gaze on a coffee stain that seems _so _interesting all of sudden.

'And yeah, I know you've always had... self-destructive tendencies... but you've been outdoing yourself these, like, what? Past ten months?'

He puts the mug down, rests his elbows on the table and hides his face in his hands.

'I'm not stupid and you know that. It started around the time you first came with the idea of _Storm_.'

A quiet sigh escapes past his lips. Of course she's noticed.

He pushes his hair back with one hand and straightens.

'Listen, I don't know what you want me to say...' A wave of dizziness hits him and Loki has to close his eyes, pause, count to three to make sure he's not going to pass out before continuing. But Darcy beats him to that.

'No, cut the bullshit. I want you to tell me _what the hell is going on_. You're literally going to kill yourself at this rate and Lord knows I'm _not _letting that-'

'I saw Thor.'

The silence is deafening. Loki risks a quick glance at his agent and sees her sitting there with her jaw dropped. She blinks, shakes her head. Loki returns to scanning the table's surface.

'The day when I called you and told you I'm starting a new book. Right after Christmas. It was... I was at Helblindi's at the time.' He balls his hands into fists to stop their shaking. His knuckles are dry and raw, skin around the nails bitten to blood. 'I was at my brother's for Christmas and we went shopping on twenty-third and. I saw him there. At the mall.'

_'So I call him and ask if he's coming and he's telling me no, that he's at Bahamas with whatever model he's dating right now. So I get pissed of course, tell him if our little wayward brother can make it then he sure as hell can too!'_

_Loki nods absent-mindedly, not really paying any attention to his oldest brother's ranting. It's bizarre, to be back in that small city they grew up in. The city he never belonged to. Helblindi feels good here, he stayed and made a family. It was Loki's first time back since he left at eighteen and it felt like being trapped in a dream, reminiscing the past years, seeing the shadows of his past self in every corner._

_The Christmas decorations around the mall are exactly the same as they used to. Some shops have closed and some new opened but hey, that's exactly the same bench he and Thor used to sit on while eating ice cream. This is the makeup store he loved so much and his friend felt _so _uncomfortable going in. Loki would tease him about it, challenge Thor into letting him use the testers on him. Good memories. It almost makes him smile despite a tight metal band constricting his lungs._

_Helblindi's phone rings. His brother excuses himself, steps aside to pick up. Loki busies himself with watching the shop window of a pet store. A bunch of white and brown fluffy bunnies is sitting in a cage right behind the glass. There was a man in their neighbourhood when they were little, he remembers – he kept similar rabbits in his garden and then fed them to the great constrictors he had inside his house. Loki had never seen the snakes with his own eyes but his older brothers would tell him that, and at the age of seven he had no reason to doubt anything his big brothers said._

_Absorbed by memories, his eyes drift to the side and Loki's entire body freezes._

_There, inside the pet shop._

_An abbeys of nothingness opens underneath his feet and he's falling like a stone thrown in water; a rush of long suppressed memories breaking the gate and flooding him with ice cold water and he cannot breathe._

_He cannot breathe._

_Thor is standing inside, some distance away, his profile to the entrance. He's changed, obviously. Loki's last seen him years ago. He's even taller and bulkier and his hair is shorter and he's dressed differently but there's no doubt it's him._

_At his feet a girl, no older than five, holding his large hands, head turned up as the man says something to her._

_A golden band glistening on Thor's ring finger._

_Loki takes a step back and almost loses his balance. Cold numbness is spreading from within his core. This... this is impossible. He'd flown thousand miles and run for years to get away from Thor. He can't be just _standing _there casually like he's never been the only thing keeping Loki alive during his dark adolescenthood. Like he hasn't been on his mind every night for the past ten years. Like Loki hasn't been drowning himself in alcohol and writing until he couldn't feel his fingers just to forget that smile and those eyes and those hands and that laugh._

_And he's asked his brother so many times. Made sure Thor was _not _living in their hometown anymore before coming back._

_So why is he there?_

_Can Loki _not _have a single moment of respite?_

_There's a hand on his shoulder. Helblindi talks to him and Loki hears the words but can't comprehend them. He's on the verge of a panic attack and needs to get out _now _or he'll break down right there._

_He turns around and it takes all in him to run, to not go inside that shop. He runs and runs and packs his things and goes back to New York the same afternoon and drinks himself to stupor and calls Darcy, tells her he's got an idea for a new book._

Loki stops talking and hides his face in his arms. A stone has been lifted from his shoulders with every word and he's feeling hollow and weightless now, ready to float in the ugly rainy sky. Like in that new Stephen King story. Float and float and light the fireworks and erupt into a million little pieces and feel nothing at all. Nothing at last.

Darcy sits across him in stunned silence. Loki would smirk if he had the strength to.

'_Storm_,' she says eventually. Her voice is hoarse. 'As in...'

'Yeah,' he snorts bitterly. Wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Another migraine threatens to appear at the edges of his consciousness. 'That fucking stupid nickname his teammates gave him. I used to tease the hell out of him about it.'

'And the dedication...' Darcy's voice wavers. Loki looks up in surprise to see her wiping at her eyes. 'Goddammit, Loki, why didn't you tell me anything?'

'And what would you do if I told you? I'm an adult, I need to get over it!'

'Yeah, and you're doing a great work of that!' Darcy snaps. Loki flinches. She looks him over with wide eyes and shakes her head. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. 'S just... I'm worried for you. You're a mess. I don't know what to do.'

'I don't know either,' he admits. And there's a kind of sad vulnerability to it that he once swore to never show to anyone.

But what's the point in hiding it now.

'When I started writing this book. It hurt like hell, every word of it. And I wasn't sure until the last moment. But I endured through it all because I hoped... I hoped...' It feels stupid now. To think he would be allowed that kind of mercy as if anything ever worked out in his favor. 'I hoped that it would give me some closure. To let it loose into the world. That... feeling. Even if I were the only one to know.'

He takes a shaky breath. Darcy squeezes his hand and he clings to her like it's a lifeline.

'I'd been living off this hope the whole year. I'd feel like shit and tell myself – _you can do this, finish this damn book and then you'll feel better. _And I'd believe it.'

Tears blurry his vision and Loki presses his face into his arms folded over the table. It takes everything in him not to fall apart in the most literal way.

'It didn't work.'

Darcy rounds the table and sits by his side, and her arms wrap around his waist tentatively. Her head comes to rest on his shoulder and Loki can't suppress a sob.

'I still love him the same.'

His apartment is still and quiet.

He walks to the kitchen and his steps echo loudly in the empty space. There's a half-emptied bottle of wine in the sink. Loki takes it by the neck and looks at it thoughtfully. Remembers Darcy's words and spills its content down the drain.

He'll regret it later but it's not like there isn't a twenty-four seven liquor store around the corner.

He turns on Nocturnes op. 9 and goes to the living room, spinning around a few times on his way just for the sake of it.

Sweet piano notes flow through the air like fading thoughts and dreams as Loki stands in front of the bookcase and stares at his new novel. It's getting dark outside, he can't see the colours very well.

He reaches for the book and opens it on the first page. Stares down impassively at the words printed there in black italics font.

_The sun will shine on us again_, it says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's been quite a ride. The prompt hit straight home.
> 
> Book reference: 'Elevation' by Stephen King.  
Music reference: Waltz in a-minor, Nocturne op. 9 no. 1, 2 & 3 by Frederic Chopin.


	5. Dizzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quest to Jotunheim gone unexpected.
> 
> Tags for this chapter: sickfic, sick Loki, Jotunn Loki,

On their hunt for a rare, mighty beast, they wander off to the forests of Jotunheim.

The differences are subtle and gradual. The trees become smaller and thinner, the flora soon reducing to emaciated pines, dwarf shrubs and colorless mistletoe. With every steep leading them deeper into the realm Loki feels the magic underneath and around them becoming more ancient and rough.

It's getting colder, too, but it seems to mostly affect Thor.

They lost their horses while crossing Ifing and have been now walking for two days when Loki stops abruptly at the edge of a deserted plain and raises his hand.

'There's something here.'

Thor's reaction is immediate – his grip on Mjolnir tightens and his muscle tense. He looks around, ready to fight. Loki resists the urge to roll his eyes. 'No, not that type of something.'

In fact, he first sensed it right after crossing the river separating Jotunheim from Asgard. A subtle tingle at the edges of his consciousness, becoming stronger and more nagging as they moved. Not exactly magic, at least not of any type Loki knows. Something more physical.

He's shrugged it off because it didn't seem dangerous at the moment but as soon as they leave the shelter of the forest it hits him full force and the god can't ignore it anymore.

'What do you mean, brother?' Thor stands next to him. Together they look at the plains.

It's a vast, open space with the horizon blurred by endless stretches of white. In the distance they can faintly make out outlines of mountain range.

Loki bites his lip.

'I'm not entirely sure,' he admits reluctantly. 'Not magic. Not the ice giants...'

'Then I guess we'll have to find out!' Thor pats him on the back with force that makes Loki stumble and starts towards the open space briskly.

_I've got a bad feeling about this_, Loki thinks, but there's not much else he could do than to follow.

They find the dead Jotunn before dusk. Loki's by then out of breath and a headache pounds behind his eyes with steadiness of a sledge hammer. He hopes it's not beginnings of snow blindness.

He doesn't feel good physically and it makes him angry. Usually he has no problem keeping up with Thor.

The snow has started falling some hours before, thick and heavy, and Loki senses the body right before Thor stumbles over it. His older brother curses and grabs for Mjolnir but Loki's seidr tells him it's unnecessary.

'It's dead.'

Thor kicks the ice giant's head just to make sure. It's lying on its stomach, face hidden in the snow. Strong tall body limp and helpless, similar to a rag doll.

'What's killed it?' Thor thinks out loud. 'No wounds, no traces of battle.' There's no answer and he turns over his shoulder to look at his younger brother. 'Loki?'

He's standing there motionless with hands by his sides and stares at the giant with narrowed eyes. The strange sensation is back, stronger than ever, surrounding the dead body.

He snaps out of it and meets Thor's eyes.

'Let's be careful,' he says.

The realization dawns upon him when they come across an abandoned camp not a mile later.

Disheveled tents, ruined bonfires. Things thrown around in chaos. Hunters, perhaps. Jotnar don't usually settle in open space.

'Don't bother,' Loki says when they notice the camp and Thor reaches for the hammer at his belt instinctively. 'They're all dead.'

A group of seven in total. All strong, adult males. Again, no signs of struggle.

Thor's looking around for anything useful when Loki's hands start to shake – with cold or nerves or something else, he's not entirely sure – and he has an epiphany. All puzzles suddenly click into place.

The blank face of one of the Jotnar stares at him, traces of dry oily blood running from its nose, mouth and empty red eyes.

'Thor, don't touch anything!' He snaps. Looks frantically around for his brother and notices him bent in half, rummaging through the ice giants' equipment.

'Let's get out of here,' Loki grabs him by the arm. It's only surprise that gives him enough advantage to actually budge Thor's body.

'Loki, what's going on? What is it?' Demands the Thunderer but follows him nonetheless. The younger god's face is smoothed into an indifferent mask.

'It's a disease.'

The snowstorm only gets stronger and they don't make it far before they have to stop and make themselves some accommodation for the night. Together they dig a cave in the snow, fill it with furs and stretch skins above their heads. Then they lit a small fire and, satisfied with the results, settle down.

Loki's got a grim expression on his face and Thor throws him a few tentative glances before asking what they both expect.

'You think we got it?'

'No,' Loki answers immediately, though absent-mindedly. 'I sensed it right when we entered Jotunheim. Didn't know what it was back then, but now I do. And I don't feel it in any of us.'

It's just cold and exhaustion that makes his head hurt so bad and his hands shake, he tells himself. Tightens the furs around himself and suppresses a shudder. He reaches with his seidr deep inside his own body and surely there's no traces of that distressing sensation within him.

That night he sleeps like a stone.

It takes Thor a considerable while to wake him up. Usually Loki sleeps very lightly, any considerably loud noise enough to bring him back to consciousness. It's different now. He feels like fighting his way out of his slumber through a thick spider web and it leaves him disoriented and groggy.

His mouth is dry and his head pounds with deep, dull ache.

'Get up, brother,' Thor says. 'We need to keep going or we'll lose track of the beast.'

By the time they gather their equipment and resume the march Loki knows something is _definitely _wrong. Every movement of his eyeballs causes sharp spikes of pain. His muscles start to ache, the whole of his body feeling strangely detached. There's a weird weakness within him and he wants to curl right on the snow and sleep, the temptation to ask Thor for a break becoming stronger with every passing hour.

And yet, he just clenches his teeth and endures it all. There's no way he's willingly showing weakness in front of his brother. Thor had asked him to go on this hunt together exclusively. No Warriors Three, no Lady Sif. Just the two of them. Such occasions have been becoming more and more rare, the Thunderer's companions doing everything in their might to leave the younger Odinson behind, and though he wouldn't admit it in face of tortures, Loki deeply aches for his older brother's affection.

So no, he won't fuck this up for himself and for Thor. He'd rather die than prove Thor's friends right.

Loki's plan goes to hell when the distant, pale sun reaches its highest place on the sky.

Thor hears a weak moan and turns in time to see Loki's limp body fall into the snow face first.

'Brother!' He yells, panic rising as he sprints towards him, falls to his knees and lifts the younger god's upper body in his arms. Loki's face is as pale as the snow beneath them, only two spots of red high on his cheekbones standing out.

His unfocused eyes meet Thor's before drifting away.

Loki loses track of time. He's in Jotunheim in one moment and floats in darkness the next. Distantly he hears voices and feels rough hands on his body manhandling him but can't focus enough to comprehend what's going on. All he knows is that he's unbelievably hot, body burning underneath his skin and threatening to burst out in smoking streams through his pores.

He comes to himself rapidly in what appears to be another hideout, weakly flickering flame causing more shadows than light.

Thor is above him, pins his arms down and Loki starts trashing on instinct but his limbs feel heavy and there's no way he can free himself.

He panics, breaths coming out in short tight wheezes.

'Brother,' he hears through the roaring in his head. 'Loki, I need you to calm down.'

'Hot... I'm too hot...' He manages, tries again to peel the furs off but Thor just holds him down through another fit of uncoordinated limb flailing.

'I can't let you. It's freezing outside. You've got fever...' He hears. Weakly, he lifts a hand to his own forehead and his eyes widen at the feeling of skin burning hot like a furnace.

'Well... that's unfortunate...' He manages. His throat feels like sandpaper. Thor gets the hint and lifts his upper body, brings a flash to his chapped lips. Loki drinks greedily, fighting the dizziness and nausea.

His brother lies him down gently and once again the younger god finds himself staring at the furs and skins dancing above him; swimming in and out of consciousness. His whole body shudders in regular waves of muscle tightening involuntarily, the sweat accumulated all over burning uncomfortably.

'We need to go back,' he hears at some point.

His reaction is immediate. He tries to sit up but his traitorous body doesn't listen and Loki cries out at the sudden wave of nausea and dizziness. He feels weak like a newborn kitten.

Tears fall out of his eyes and down into his hairline and he can do nothing to stop them.

'No... I can't... can't go back...' He gasps. His lungs are burning with fire and he finds it harder and harder to breathe.

Thor's pained face comes into focus for a second before it turns back into a smudged stain of colour.

'What do you mean? Why did you tell me nothing?' Comes from somewhere outside of his aching body. Loki needs to close his eyes, breathe heavily through the overwhelming pain to answer.

'Couldn't... let you see... think I'm... weak...' he manages. The struggle exhausts him and once again he plunges into darkness.

Thor, the great mighty firstborn of Odin Allfather and Loki, weak scrawny younger brother, he thinks. The one no one wants to play with, a laughing stock to the other noble children. Left out by his brother more and more often. _He'll slow us down_, Sif says. _Let's just go, he'll only make things harder_ – Fandral. _He's not a fighter, we have bigger chances without him! _It's Volstagg. The voices mock him in this weird place between consciousness and feverish dreams. Loki tosses and cries, begs them to stop. Enough. Enough.

'Enough.. enough...' His tongue and lips are moving, he realizes, and snaps his eyes open. Thor's incredulous face seems very funny all of sudden. Loki starts giggling and Thor's eyes widen and he looks even funnier now and Loki can't stop, can't stop thin wheezing outbursts of laugh that shake his whole body.

'Don't make that face, brother...' He gasps, fighting the outbursts of amusement down. 'Don't act like... you don't know... like I'm anything else but a burden...'

'But it's not true, Loki!' Thor protests hotly. 'Whatever you're saying is nonsense. It's the fever speaking, not you!'

Loki chuckles. That sentimental oaf.

'Ah, but it's the only thing I'm good at,' he murmurs, suddenly sleepy. 'Words. I'm the god of lies. God of stories. It's everything I've ever been.'

It's hard to keep his eyes open. His brother's face seems to be moving away and Loki realizes Thor's staring at him from above the opening of a well.

'Loki... Loki, no...' he hears distantly, but that's the end. Loki falls down the well and the darkness swallows everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at sickfics but I couldn't resist the temptation of Loki being so feverish he admits his fears to Thor without realizing it.
> 
> A quick explanation: the sickness only attacks Jotnar. This is why Thor doesn't get sick. Loki doesn't sense the sickness within himself because he has no idea he's a Jotunn and doesn't have access to that part of himself.


	6. Unneeded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is Asgard's mightiest weapon. Used when needed, put back into its place when the dust settles.
> 
> Tags for this chapter: torture, evil Odin, brainwashing, berserker Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me two days but I'm rather glad with the result and I hope you like it too. The connection of the plot and the title isn't very strong but I didn't want to write another fic about Loki being dumped by Thor and his friensd.

Loki Laufeyson is the most precious weapon in Asgard's arsenal.

Found in a ruined temple by Odin, brought to Asgard as a means for treaty. The plan turning out inadequate when it was revealed that Laufey the Jotnar king got rid of the child himself, ashamed of having fathered a runt.

It does not matter. The Allfather's mind is all-seeing and omniscient and he soon finds another use for the foundling. For Loki bears a magical power unknown across the Nine Realms, even amongst his own people; one so strong his mind cannot handle it, descends into madness.

That is of no account. It's not the Jotunn's wits Odin needs.

Loki's reputation is well known among all the worlds and kingdoms existing. His name itself holds enough threat to chill the mightiest warriors to the bone. When on battlefield, his fame and strength is carried by the buzz of magic and thrum of the soil beneath, enemies running for their life long before Loki himself appears.

His might and thirst for blood is only known from gossip for no one who gets close enough to experience it themselves lives to tell.

On his coming of age Thor receives Mjolnir and command of a division of warriors to lead. The Allfather takes him into the dungeons and beyond, into a section of the palace's undergrounds Thor's never been to before. There's excitement buzzing under his skin because he knows this is where Father keeps his mightiest weapons; the biggest threats to the worlds he possesses.

The heavy doors enchanted with runes are being guarded by Einherjar who straighten their backs and salute as they pass by. Inside there's a cell, more runes etched into the stone across the floor and the ceiling, buzzing with power, moving at the edges of their vision.

Thor holds his breath. There, behind a slightly wavering barrier of magic.

He looks inconspicuous. A true runt, not only in comparison to Ice Giants but Aesir as well. Clothes torn into rags, barely concealing his privates. Shackles around his wrists are connected to a heavy metal collar, keeping his clasped hands at chest's height; both engraved with even more meticulous runes. His feet are also manacled with a short chain between them, another one connecting them to the handcuffs; the chains are tight, preventing any movement of arms. Another chain, protruding from the collar, disappears into a wall behind. It's maybe three feet long and Thor notices at the back of his mind that the prisoner couldn't possibly lie down, the chain already pulled taut as he kneels with his head slightly bowed.

There's a muzzle over his mouth, covering almost half of his gaunt face. The other half is hidden behind black, tangled hair, a disheveled mess reaching his elbows. From behind that, a pair of sickeningly bright eyes is boring into them, the light of a single torch flickering in the wide blown pupils.

And he doesn't look like a Jotunn. His skin is the palest white Thor's ever seen.

He can't help a shudder that runs from his head to toes.

Asgard's mightiest weapon, Loki the Destroyer. One Odin hasn't used since the great war with Jotnar when his son was just a baby, for no one dared to rise a hand against the kingdom since then.

He dares not take another step, watches Father near the cell, hands behind his back, looking at the bound man in contemplation.

'Our people say I am omniscient,' his loud voice booms off the stone walls. 'That is, unfortunately, far from truth.'

Loki's wild eyes follow Odin who walks slowly along the cell. He doesn't move, doesn't make a sound. His shockingly thin body is tense, every muscle pulled taut.

'For instance, I am hesitating what to do with this beast.'

Thor watches with wide eyes, jumping from Father's profile to the unobtrusive being kneeling on the stone floor.

'It wields magical power greater than any other creature in the Nine Realms.'

_Even you? _Thor wants to ask, but his throat is too tight.

'Norns bless us, I have not had need to use that power in centuries.' Odin turns to the cell and Thor's breath hitches when Father reaches out a hand, the magical barrier giving way to him like water. 'But I am not ignorant nor optimistic enough to believe I will not need that power in the future.'

He circles the mage and stops right behind him. Loki's head twists, trying to keep his eyes on the god, but suddenly the Allfather's fingers bury in his wild tangled hair and twist. A barely noticeable hand movement and the muzzle disappears, revealing pale skin and sunken cheeks. Hair falls out of his face when Odin pulls his head back.

Loki makes a growling, animalistic sound, more of a beast than a thinking being. He snaps at the air, revealing sharp teeth, hisses and barks and his whole body twists, fighting the unrelenting grip. A wild animal, really. Not much more.

'That you will not need it.'

Thor first sees him in action a century later when the Dark Elves try to invade Asgard in a show of greed and lack of sense.

It's thrilling. He's never seen power so raw, so deadly in its primitiveness. The moment his shackles are removed Loki explodes with magic. He's never been taught to wield it; that had not been the point.

Seidr is a living force merely inhabiting the wielder's body, he's been told. It needs to be released regularly or it builds up, does damage to body and mind both, feeds off them until there's nothing left but madness. Loki's magic had been bound for centuries.

He causes destruction wherever his eyes land upon, bodies of the enemy ripping apart or twisting in the most painful ways imaginable. Air crackles with magic and flashes with green and where there's no green there's red, for he tears with his bare teeth at the throats of the ones unfortunate enough to live through the first wave of his wrath.

Thor gets lost in his own bloodlust, swinging and smashing until there's no enemy left to defeat. His armor is splashed with gore, Mjolnir thrums with excitement in his palm. He's found himself in a forest at the final stage of the battle. There's only bodies and wounded around him and he sees none of his warriors, but can hear them yelling and then that unmistakable, primal howl.

He swings Mjolnir and lifts himself above the trees.

The trick is to bond Loki before he turns against the Aesir soldiers in his mindless bloodthirst. Thor notices him easily, a plain of open space among the forest, trees broken by outbursts of magic, torn bodies piling up.

A thin figure standing in the middle of the massacre, Aesir warriors circling him loosely, keeping their distance.

His skin is blue and wild eyes scarlet red.

Thor does not hesitate and slams full force into the mage, the impact throwing them good ten meters before they stop, the Prince on top. Loki snarls and blasts a globe of hissing light at him, and he avoids it by a hair's length. Clenching his teeth he fists his hand and delivers a blow to the temple so hard Loki's head snaps and his eyes fog and Thor uses that moment to turn him around, slam his face into the blood soaked soil, grab the clawing hands behind his back, digging his knees in the trashing figure's shoulder blades.

'Give me the cuffs!' He yells. Loki trashes under him like a wild horse, tries to throw him off, twists his face in the mud to snap at Thor's flesh with his blood stained teeth but in this position he can't attack physically nor use his magic. Someone approaches with the enchanted cuffs and he fastens the shackles quickly around Loki's thin wrists.

The Jotunn's body stiffens and he moans painfully, the most human sound he's made yet. Then he goes limp, forehead pressed into the soil, fingers twitching at his back.

Thor stands up slowly and throws the hair off his face. He nods and a group of soldiers is at Loki in a moment, pushing him brutally to his feet and starting to drag him towards the camp.

His face is twisted in what must be excruciating pain and he does not struggle, dizzy and half-conscious. Skin changed back to its Asgardian disguise, greenish eyes hazy.

'No...' He moans weakly, and it's the first time Thor hears the beast speak. Didn't think him capable of it. 'No...'

Having all that boiling magic bound in his body again must be a torment beyond anything.

Thor begins towards the camp himself and realizes he's never been so hard in his life. He returns to his tent and pleasures himself with his hands still covered in blood, closes his eyes and recalls that wild trashing body beneath himself, how it fought him beautifully and how it felt to tame it.

From his youngest years, from the moment the thrice cursed Allfather finds him in the temple, all Loki knows is pain and the cell.

Every day of his growing they starve him, humiliate him, whip and kick and beat his body until he's a mess quivering on the cold stones in a pool of his own blood.

Odin Allfather chooses his men wisely. They're the best of the best in their trade, and they train the Jotunn to be no more than a savage broken beast, a scarred animal that lashes back at anything that approaches because it only knows pain.

They teach him that. Carve it into his skin and his mind. Make sure that for the whole of his miserable life, he only knows spite and fear and the agony of tamed magic tearing from the inside at his very being.

Sometimes he manages to fall asleep and he dreams. Of blue skies and gentle hands and a voice singing a lullaby to him. When he wakes, he can almost feel all of that at the back of his brain.

He doesn't know how the sky looks like. His moments outside are when magic takes over him and he remembers nothing of that, only the taste of blood on his tongue and electrifying buzz of magic on his fingertips.

He can barely form coherent thoughts. Feels more than thinks. Knows a handful of words, those he hears from the guards and the trainers. All associated with humiliation and pain.

And yet. The worst comes always after the battle, when they retire to Asgard and he's being dumped back into that cell that's his whole life. Has always been. Will always be. He knows nothing beyond that cell. They tie him up and leave him there, heading off to feast and celebrate another great victory of the mightiest realm.

He's not needed anymore. A weapon put in its place to wait until the next time the Allfather deems its use necessary.

He slumps against the wall as low as the chain at the back of his neck allows him. Lays limp and hurting and _broken _and silent tears fall down his face. He does not know that crushing feeling constricting his lungs and pushing water out of his eyes. Sadness is not an emotion the Aesir need of him and so he's never been taught to pin it.

It only comes in the moments of clarity, after a battle, when his magic calms a little, its accumulation lessened and power spent.

It's then that he hallucinates of gentle touch and red eyes and cold dampness falling from the sky. It's then that he hears soft murmured words he does not understand.

When they come back to whip him and burn him and smash his face against the stone he welcomes it, for the pain once again becomes all he knows and Loki longs for what he'd been robbed of no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the number of chapters to ? because I already have 31 prompts I want to write chosen, but I also want to write the ones you suggest, so there will be more chapters than 31.


	7. Bullied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In retrospect, Loki probably should have thought of a better hiding spot.
> 
> Tags for this chapter: bullying, au-high school. The Warriors Three are the bad guys here - don't read if it makes you uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really really really not satisfied with this one. It must be the worst one-shot so far. But at the beginning of this series I promised myself I wouldn't skip any prompt, and I want to get over with it so I can move to another one.
> 
> Still, I hope you enjoy this. More than Loki, at least.

After the last class Loki Laufeyson sits in a bathroom stall on the first floor of Eastwood High School and waits.

It seems like he's constantly waiting these days. But it's a good strategy, usually lets him avoid getting his head flushed in the loo or his stuff thrown in a trash container. Breaks between classes are too short for the idiots to do much more than push him into the lockers or trip him up and throw out the contents of his bag. He hasn't been beaten up properly in weeks.

Consider that a success.

There are disadvantages too, of course. Like the fact he can't have a fag right now. He's got enough problems as it is without being called on the principal's carpet for triggering smoke detectors.

On the other side, staying after classes and waiting for the other students to leave means he gets to spend less time at home. All is good.

Usually.

It seems like he's ran out of his luck this time.

The door to the bathroom opens with a bang against the wall. Loki freezes like a deer caught between the car lights.

A second later someone kicks the door to his stall so hard it shakes and makes him jump on the toilet seat. _Fuck fuck fuck._

'Are you alone in there, faggot, or are you giving a head right now?' Fandral. Of course it has to be him.

'Who would put their dick near his fucking face?' Volstagg, this time.

Another kick against the door and Fandral again: 'I know you're in there. I can smell you, you piece of shit.'

_Don't say anything, _a sharp voice at the back of his head warns. _Seriously, Laufeyson, you're already in deep shit. Shut. Up._

And then, of course, he hears himself speak, voice cheerful and sweet. 'If you want a blowjob you just have to ask nicely, Fandral.'

Well. Fuck his dumb self-destructive ass.

There's a moment of silence and he dares smirk to himself before the other speaks again, and he's clearly so very _pissed off_ Loki thinks he should've kept his mouth shut after all.

'You're dead, retard. You're so fucking dead.'

The next thing he knows the stall shakes again and the paltry lock gives in, Loki barely making it in time to jump into a corner to avoid being smacked by the door.

One moment he thinks he should've locked himself in the ground floor bathrooms, the recently renewed ones. The next he finds himself being yanked to the floor and watching the dirty tiles in very close proximity. He can taste blood on his tongue. His ribs explode with excruciating pain that leaves his vision white and his lungs empty of air, and it takes everything not to make a sound. He curls into himself, clutching his abdomen involuntarily, trying vainly to draw in a breath.

Vaguely he's aware of someone spitting down on him.

'Get him up,' he hears through a fog. Then two pairs of hands grab him brutally by the arms and lift him up. They don't let go, and if not for them he would probably crumple back to the floor. Still, it hurts, the way they dig into his flesh purposefully hard, and this time he can't stop a hiss of pain.

Fandral looks at him with narrowed eyes, his handsome face centimeters from Loki's. The vice-captain of the school football team, every girl's heart-throb, yadda yadda. For some reason he's set his eyes on Loki the first day of high school and decided to make his life there as hard as possible.

'You really need to learn how to keep your mouth shut, faggot boy,' he says. His breath smells of mint.

_It's your goddamn mouth that gets you in the trouble, boy_, he hears Dad's words. _You can only blame yourself._

He finally manages to catch a breath. Looks Fandral right in the eye. 'Yeah? Somehow I doubt _you _know how to do that.'

So what if he has no self-preservation.

A fist connects with his abdomen, adding to the previous pain, making him keen. He goes limp in the minions' grip, head bowing, tears springing to his eyes. _Fucking failure_, the voice at the back of his head chirps in helpfully. _Isn't Daddy right? Isn't it your own fucking fault?_

'Luckily, I know _exactly _how we can help you.'

He keeps his head down, breathing heavily.

It's always been like this.

At home, since Mom died. At school since forever. Always the weird one, the outcast, even before he realized people will give him shit no matter what and started dressing differently, started talking back. Started acting like he didn't care because it was the only way he knew to cover up how much he did.

He hears Fandral unzip his jeans and looks up, alarmed.

'Don't worry, little gayboy,' he gives Loki a lazy smile. 'You're not my type.'

Loki watches him go into the stall he'd been previously occupying. Fandral starts pissing, looks at him over his shoulder. 'I really fucking despise you, Laufeyson.'

He takes his sweet time. Shakes the last droplets off and puts his dick back in his pants. 'I hate little cock-sucking faggots like you.'

He turns, crouches in front of Loki. Grabs his jaw tightly, fingers digging into skin. Loki flinches.

'Would like nothing else than to beat you within an inch of your life,' he barks. His heavenly blue eyes bore into Loki's and for a second, he feels fear. For a second he thinks the blonde could actually do it.

But then Fandral gets up and jerks his head in the stall's direction. 'Luckily for you, a violence record wouldn't look good in my college application.'

Volstag and Hogun start dragging him towards the toilet and at first Loki fights, trashes and flails. But then he thinks, _what's the point. I never win. Let's just get this over with._

They force him to kneel, push his head into the toilet seat. He manages to take a deep breath and shut his eyes before his face is pushed under the surface.

He holds his breath but the mere realization of what's happening makes a bile rise in his throat. He swallows it down, tries not to panic. _Don't make it worse. Just endure. _A rule that helped him survive his whole life.

Suddenly his head is being yanked back. He takes a breath through his nose, another wave of nausea hitting him at the overwhelming, sharp smell of piss. It's dripping down his face, soaking his hair. He keeps his eyes shut.

'That's a look on you,' Fandral barks into his ear. Then he pushes his head into the toilet again. And again. By the third time he holds him under so long Loki opens his mouth involuntarily and immediately vomits at the realization.

They laugh, call him names. He goes numb, mind drifting away. Waits for it to be over. Waits and endures like he always does. It's everything he ever does, it seems.

At some point Fandral flushes the toilet and the water soaks the hair at the back of his head, fills his ears. It's almost a relief.

He gasps with his forehead against the seat, fingers clutching its edges tightly. Waits.

'Let's go,' he hears Hogun speak up distantly. There's a constant buzz in his ears. 'Thor's waiting for us.'

Thor. The football team captain, another boy that makes every panties soak when he passes. He hangs out with the three but is never there when they decide to have their way with Loki. He doesn't know if it's good or not. Probably the latter. Odinson could snap him in half if he wanted to.

'The next time you think you can hide from me... think better,' Fandral says almost friendly. Pats him on the back once and then they leave.

Loki listens to their retreating footsteps, their careless bickering. Once it's quiet, he gets up and staggers towards a row of sinks. Everything hurts - his ribs, his head, his stomach. He pushes his head under the tap and turns it on. The cold water makes his breath hitch. With shaking hands, he fills his hands with soap and rubs it into his face. Rubs and rubs until it fills his nostrils and eyes and it's the only thing he feels. Until he can pretend the burning under his eyelids is the disinfector and not tears.

He's good at pretending. Almost manages to fool himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and yell at me on Twitter: @jeonkaktus
> 
> Check out my other fanfic, a multi-chaptered Loki-centric story: 'Black hair, black lungs'.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was taken from a 31 days angst challenge. If you want to request some angst, hit me up. You can also give me a number from between 1-100 for a surprise or choose from this list by DeviantArt user redwinevinegar:
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/redwinevinegar/art/100-theme-angst-challenge-361664107


End file.
